𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋 -
ⁿᵒᵘⁿ
- the state or fact of continuing to live or exist, typically in spite of an accident, ordeal, or difficult circumstances.
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𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬, �...
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ʷʰᵉⁿ ⁱ'ᵐ ᶠᵃᵈᵉᵈ ⁱ ᶠᵒʳᵍᵉᵗ,
ᶠᵒʳᵍᵉᵗ ʷʰᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ,
ʰᵒᵖᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʷʰᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ...
⁻ ᶜᵒᵐⁱⁿᵍ ᵈᵒʷⁿ, ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵉᵉᵏⁿᵈ.
⁻
'𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎 understand why you are here, Miss Bliss?'. His beard moves in sync with his chapped lips, the words seeping out of his mouth with the lingering taste of boredom. As if he rehearses the same speech he probably gives to every new arrival at the school, sat in the same seat as i'm in, with blood and crimes smeared on their dirty hands to accompany them in their introduction.
However my hands are perfectly clean, but he doesn't need to know that.
I clear my throat, shifting in my seat to make my thoughts less crowded and stressed. The foreign atmosphere and surroundings makes my skin crawl with nerves, but I force myself to swallow them down, needing to build some false sense of confidence and security if this place is going to be where I will be staying for a while.
'Yes sir, I do understand.' I say, meeting his strong gaze. I smile slightly, an uncomfortable and forced one, but one which hopefully comes across as a kind and neutral one. The last thing I want is to get on the bad side of the principal of this school, although everyone here will already think i'm a brutal murderer, I don't want to show any reasons for them to clarify that.
'With the circumstances of your crime, we are not able to house you with a roommate, the risks for their safety is too high, even for criminals here at Hampshire.' He says the last part with ease, almost as if it's a timid subject and any mention of it will cause a switch to flip and for me to go rogue.
However in actuality, a small slither of happiness pools through me. One of my many worries was who i'd be housed with, an arsonist, thief, rapist... the list could go on, so the fact that my crime can stop me from having a roommate makes me almost thankful for my reputation...almost.
He continues, 'I called a-' a sharp knock on the door cuts him off, he straightens up and adjusts his black tie. ' Come in.'
A small, blonde girl comes into view, peaking out from the oak wooden door behind me. Her curls spiral around her face, framing her freckles and smudged makeup. Her short frame is overtaken by the rest of the room, cornering her in as fear masks all of her features.
